I studied in a convent throughout my school days and Christmas was the only time when we were given the least amount of homework. I would lead to me participating in every Christmas play and sing in every carol competition every year. But, to be clear, it wasn’t because I was a great actor or a great singer; it was just because I wanted an excuse to miss as many classes as I could. Who knew then that my notorious need to bunk classes would, with time, translate into a love for the holiday season?
Today, as soon as winter nears, I find myself humming Christmas carols at random times of the day. Christmas cheer is in my blood, and you can expect me to burst into carols at the top of my voice, even if Christmas is a few weeks away.
The only non-Christamas-y thing about me is my dislike for desserts. I hate desserts. Rarely has anything sweet ever made me want a second helping. The only exception is the plum cake my mom bakes every Christmas. I don’t remember a single Christmas when I have missed eating her legendary plum cake.
Winters in my hometown of Ranchi are nothing like the city I currently live in-Mumbai. In Ranchi, you’ll see me bundled up in almost four layers of clothes (I channel Joey from Thanksgiving) and endlessly sipping hot coffee. On Christmas morning, my dad, sister, and gather in the living room with our collective gaze fixed on the kitchen door, waiting for the plum cake to make its grand appearance.
My mom isn’t very fond of us creepily staring at her for hours while she makes it. And even though she knows her instructions are never followed, she still threatens to not give us a single piece of cake if we disturb her during the baking process. I doubt I’ll ever know the recipe entirely because one thing my mom cannot stand is “helping”-which usually leads to more disaster than assistance.
Every year, my mom wakes up at 6 am and plays the same playlist she has played forever. I power-walk to the kitchen, which is usually covered in flour. However, I prefer to describe it as “abstract art”, since calling it messy might lead to me being disowned. There are tiny piles of fruits and dry fruits, carefully arranged in the order they’ll be added to the batter. While plums are the star of the cake, my mom likes to experiment, adding raisins, apricots, cranberries, and figs too.
We patiently wait until the cake is out of the oven, and then comes the fun part-the only stage we are allowed to participate in: the glazing. We approach this with all the dedication we can muster, brushing the top with icing sugar, milk, and orange juice. We all know the hardwork is actually my mother’s, but we always love to say that we made it together-because who wouldn’t want to take credit for the yummiest plum cake ever?
Now, the funniest yet slightly heartbreaking fact is that, despite the hours it takes to make this masterpiece, it takes our family barely 15 or 20 minutes to wipe the plate clean – crumbs and all.
The cake-eating is punctuated with bouts of laughter, accompanied by Christmas carols in the background. My mom quietly sits in a corner with her slice of cake, eating it like the only sane person in the room. But the glint in her eyes and the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth are telltale signs of the pride she feels when she watches her family demolish her famous plum cake, yet again.
